


Wish You'd Never Asked

by MothTale



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt No Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 09:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18617809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothTale/pseuds/MothTale
Summary: Steve and Tony try to keep an injured Clint talking while they wait for rescue. But they may not like what he has to say...





	Wish You'd Never Asked

**Author's Note:**

> This is nasty trash of the first order. You have been warned.

It was not an ideal situation.

Two tonnes of rock overhead, ready to crumble, another lot of rubble behind them and beyond that a blast door.

To top it off, Hawkeye was still bleeding.

Stark was in the corner sulking - at least it looked like sulking to Steve, Stark would probably call it thinking.

His AI had informed him that his initial plan to blast their way out would most likely result in their deaths.

JARVIS had also informed him that, while none of his wounds were immediately fatal, Agent Barton’s blood loss might soon pose a problem.

‘You a fuckin hemophiliac or something?,’ Stark had muttered, sacrificing his t-shirt to try and stem the flow of blood from Barton’s side.

‘What did you just call me?’ Barton had said.

Now Steve was the one holding the balled up t-shirt to the wound while Barton sat with his head back against the wall, pale and sluggish.

Rescue was coming, it was just a matter of waiting it out.

Suddenly Stark was moving.

‘We need to keep him talking,’ he said, striding forward to join Steve and Barton.

‘I can hear you, y’know?’

‘In that case you should have listened earlier when I said ‘look out, bad guy with knife coming at you.’’

‘I saw him,’ Barton said. ‘But I was busy.’

Stark made a sound of disbelief.

Steve knew he should probably say something to Barton about priorities, about how being a team player means making sure you’re still around to be part of the team.

But Stark was right, they needed to keep him talking.

Like his fellow spy Barton was always somewhat close-lipped. He joked with them, occasionally told them brief mission anecdotes, heavily redacted of course, but seldom initiated conversation.

‘Tell us about where you grew up,’ Steve said. He could talk for hours about Brooklyn, the Brooklyn he knew, the smells and sounds, the buildings and people.

‘Iowa,’ Clint said. ‘Next?’

Steve hoped he was imagining the slightly unfocused look in Barton’s eyes.

Stark was sat on the ground in front of Barton.

‘So you and Black Widow, have you ever…?’

‘If you wanna know so bad, Stark, ask her.’

‘Oh I would, if I thought she wouldn’t kill me afterwards.’

‘The answer is no.’

‘What? To the question or answering the question?’

Clint gave Stark a withering look.

‘Seriously? But you guys are always so touchy-feely with each other. You fell asleep on her lap once. If any of the rest of us did that she’d probably castrate us.’

Barton grunted.

‘We trust each other is all.’

‘Well that stings. I get it though, goes with the whole super-spy-slash-assassin thing you guys have going on. Trusting people doesn’t come naturally to me either.’

Barton didn’t respond, his head slumping to the side a little.

He looked tired.

‘Hey, Hawkeye,’ Steve said, ‘we need you to keep talking because we need you to stay awake.’

‘Give me something to talk about then,’ he muttered, shutting his eyes for a moment.

‘Tell us about your first kiss,’ Steve said.

It was an emotive moment in most people’s lives, hopefully distant enough in the past for Barton to be able to talk about it without compromising his shadowy mystique.

‘You don’t want to hear that story.’

‘No, no, we definitely do,’ Stark piped up. ‘Especially now we know there’s a story.’

‘You really don’t,’ said Clint with a sigh.

There was a note of resignation in his voice. It didn’t take long for Stark to goad him into talking.

‘I was thirteen,’ he said.

‘Is that it?’ Stark said when the pause dragged on. ‘That’s all we get?’

Barton have him a strange look, part annoyance part something Steve couldn’t identify.

‘I was thirteen. Both of you already know about the circus, right?’

The look he gave them was almost accusatory, as if just reading his personnel files was somehow a breach of trust. Or maybe between the pain and the blood loss he was struggling to keep a civil face.

‘The Swordsman had started training me, but I was still pretty much treated like shit. I was still small, all that malnutrition, and my arm muscles hadn’t really started to develop yet so I looked a lot younger.’

‘So did some pretty, young acrobat take pity on you and give you a peck on the lips behind the lion cages?’

Stark got another look.

‘Do you ever shut up?’ Barton said, attempting to straighten up against the wall. He winced and hissed.

‘It was one of the clowns,’ he said, his voice still taut with recent pain.

Stark’s mouth opened and closed.

‘Big guy called Ted. Some of the other carnies, ‘specially the women, called him Teddy Bear ‘cus he was kinda shy but sweet and this soft sort of look about him like if you’d cut him open all you’d find would be cotton wool.

‘One day he found me sulking behind one of the box cars. Practice hadn’t gone well so I was kinda worse for wear and hiding out so no one would try and mess with me some more. He comes up on me, and I thought that was it, I was gonna be stuck with some shitty chore until past midnight.

‘Instead he offered to let me hide in his car until it was dark and I could sneak back to my own bed. He had one to himself, just him and a load of the props. It was a perfect hiding spot ‘cus besides Ted no one really went back there and with all the stuff in there even if someone did come to get something they’d never spot me.

‘After that we became friends I guess. As well as a safe place to hide he’d give me extra food and stuff. I wasn’t stupid though - even though he seemed plenty happy just giving me things I knew I needed to give something back. So I told him, I asked him if he wanted me to do anything.

‘He asked if I would take my shirt off.

‘Again, not stupid. Some of the kids at the homes I went to had been abused like that, still were some of the time, so I knew.

‘Just the way he asked it was so, I don’t know, embarrassed or...like he was expecting me to call him names and stuff. And he’d been so nice to me, when hardly anyone else was.

‘So I did it.

‘It wasn’t that big of a deal. So I took my pants off too. It didn’t bother me.

‘He took a look at all of my bruises and I remember how sad he looked. Like he cared that I was hurt.

‘He didn’t touch me, just watched.

‘Eventually I was turning up at his place even when I didn’t need a place to hide.

‘I’d hang out on his bed, naked, read comic books or play cards or just talk. I had a few less bruises by now, things were getting easier.

‘Sometimes he wanted me to pose so he could take pictures, then he’d give me some candy bar I liked.

‘I knew the whole thing was messed up, but I’d just turned thirteen - thought I was grown up already.

‘We carried on like that for a while. Then I started performing, mostly just as back-up to some of the other acts, and afterwards I’d go to Ted’s to relax.

‘One night we were talking and he said how great I’d been.

‘I didn’t get compliments. I knew I’d done a good job when no one was yelling at me. I wasn’t used to it.

‘It was meant to be a joke. Saying I was so happy I could kiss him.

‘He got on this brittle, hopeful look - like an old dog in a shelter always hoping he’s gonna get picked but knowing each time people are going to pass him right by.

‘It had just been a stupid joke. I didn’t like him like that. I was still figuring out what I liked. And it definitely wasn’t him. But I felt like...I didn’t want to hurt him, so I went up to him and I told him to kiss me.

‘It was gross, and awkward.

‘I didn’t know what I was doing, he didn’t seem like he really knew what he was doing.

‘I never should have said it, because I couldn’t take it back.

‘Next time I was there he wanted to touch my leg.

‘We were sat on the bed together, playing cards, and he just asked. Said I could say no if I wanted, I didn’t have to. I wasn’t scared of him. I could have blinded him with the playing card and been out the door in a second if I wanted to.

‘So I shrugged and told him to do what he liked.

‘So he started touching my leg. With his knuckles, then his palm - like he just wanted to know what my skin felt like.

‘I knew things were going wrong, or more wrong, but I just didn’t have anyone else. Barney had been kind of avoiding me and Duquesne wasn’t exactly interested in anything about me other than my aim.

‘Before, if he’d gotten aroused he’d always try to hide it, or tell me it was time to go. Now he just sat there with his hard-on showing through his pants.

‘I told him I wasn’t going to touch it. I told him before he asked. He got this kicked puppy look, but nodded and said he understood. He asked if it was okay to touch mine though. And I said yes.

‘He called me cute - which I thought was a load of bullshit. I didn’t really grow into my face until I hit my twenties, before that I was just kinda awkward looking. But I could tell he meant it when he said it.

‘It felt good a lot of the time - I still had this sort of wrong feeling about everything but I knew that this was how things were now, that we couldn’t go back. He still gave me candy, and we’d still chat and play cards but always after.

‘He was always nice to me, except for that one time.

‘I knew there was more to it than what we’d been doing. And I know that he wanted to do it, with the way he kept humping me and all. I think I’d have let him eventually, but not then.

‘I went to nudge him off me, told him I’d had enough, but he whined like a little kid.

‘I told him straight I didn’t like it, but he didn’t seem to listen.

‘He pinned me down.

‘It wasn’t that he was trying to, it’s just he was a lot bigger than me. Doesn’t really matter that you could land a dime in someone’s eye socket when you haven’t got a dime and your hands are squashed flat.

‘He talked to me the whole time. How special I was, how grateful he was. How he didn’t want to hurt me, that he loved me. A whole load of sappy shit.

‘It hurt. Not the worst I’d had, but it was enough. I think it hurt him too but he didn’t let it stop him.

‘I started crying, I admit. It was probably the shock. I wasn’t completely immune to betrayal back then.

‘I saw the exact moment he realised what he’d done, once he came down from the high. He started blubbering like me, worse than me even, told me how sorry he was.

‘It took some effort to get up and get back to my bed. Ted tried to help, but once he saw the blood and the mess he’d left he started sobbing again. It was hard. I had to talk him out of carrying me back, because Barney would want to know what happened and Ted would probably tell him the truth. Then Barney would probably hurt him.

‘I didn’t want that. As pissed and as hurt as I was, I didn’t want that.

‘Hard to say who avoided who after that. I kinda expected him to come up to me, to beg or threaten me to stay quiet about the whole thing, but he didn’t. I could have told my mentor what happened, when he gave me shit the next day at practice. He didn’t really care about me, but I guess he’d have cared about the idea of someone doing permanent damage to his apprentice. I didn’t do that though. I didn’t do anything.

‘Teddy did something though.

‘He hung himself about a week later.

‘No one really looked too hard into it. Apparently clowns topping themselves wasn’t out of the ordinary. Happened every couple of years or so.

‘So, that’s the story. Can I stop talking now? Kinda tired out...’

Barton looked at both of them, seeming not to see the dropped jaws and queasy looks. Almost without realising it Steve had let up the pressure on Barton’s wound and his pants were now shiny with blood. He pressed down hard and Barton sneered.

‘Fucking ow. Hey, you’re the one who asked. No need to be a dick, told you ya wouldn’t...wouldn’t…’

Stark was still staring, open-mouthed, like somebody had pushed the pause button on him.

‘Fuck,’ he hissed, looking away.

Steve thought maybe he understood how he felt. There wasn’t anything Stark could build here and now, or even back at his lab, which would fix the story Barton had just told them.

Why exactly Barton had told them at all, Steve wasn’t sure. He knew he’d hit his head at some point prior to the tunnel collapse - maybe the concussion had knocked it out of him.

‘I still feel guilty about it.’

Barton’s head lolled to one side.

‘I mean I pretty much drove him to it--’

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Stark muttered, turning and going into the corner. ‘JARVIS, how long until our teammates up on the surface get up off their asses and get us out of here. Barton’s getting delirious.’

Steve heard the last part, he didn’t think Barton did.

‘Shh, Clint. Just rest now, alright?’

Barton gave him a look.

‘First you’re telling me to talk, now you’re telling me to shut up. Make up your mind Captain.’

Stark rounded back on them.

‘Are you seriously that fucking dumb--’

Steve felt Barton bristle next to him.

‘--that you think it’s your fault when a mentally unstable pedophile kills himself? Are you? I mean I never had you pegged as a genius or anything, but I figured you were at least smarter than that.’

‘Leave me alone. You’re the one kept telling me to tell the story…’

‘Yes! Because I thought it would be funny and-slash-or moderately embarrassing. Not utterly harrowing and...like that.’

Barton looked down and away, partially shielded by Steve.

Stark carried on.

‘Do I have to go down to the basics here? You were thirteen. A kid!’

‘Go away,’ Barton mumbled, so quietly only Steve heard him. Then, louder, ‘I knew what I was doing.’

‘Have it your way, Agent fucking Lolita. We’ve got about twenty minutes before they make it through to us, can you manage not to die in that space of time?’

‘Haven’t screwed that one up yet,’ Barton said tiredly.

Steve had been listening to the rhythms of his body, hearing his heart beating away trying to compensate for the loss of blood.

Stark shook his head.

Steve thought maybe he was about to launch into another tirade, but he apparently decided not to waste his breath.

‘You asked me about it,’ Barton said, still mostly hidden behind Steve’s shoulder. Stark heard only the mumbling.

‘What’s he saying now? That it was his fault because his t-shirts were too tight? The damn pervert just couldn’t help himself?’

‘Stark, enough.’

Tony gave him a look, one that plainly said: Did you just use your Captain voice on me?

Steve returned it with one he hoped communicated ‘Now is not the time, our teammate needs us.’

‘Son of a bitch is unconscious.’

Stark sprung up and crouched between Barton’s splayed legs.

‘Hey, Birdbrain! Wake up!’ He snapped his fingers in front of Barton’s face.

Steve could still hear him breathing, but it was quick and shallow.

‘Earth to Hawkeye! Come on. You know it’s always been a dream of mine to bitchslap that sour face of yours, are you seriously going to let me?’

In the end Stark only lightly smacked him, but it was enough to bring him around.

Barton opened his eyes and grimaced, pushing Stark back with his right hand.

‘...this hell?’ he muttered.

‘Very funny.’

‘Feels like it’s getting harder to breathe, Cap,’ Barton mumbled, glancing up at him.

‘Just hang in there, Hawkeye. I know you can do it.’

Barton smirked.

‘You sound like the dad I wish I’d had.’

Most of the colour in his face had gone, his lips were turning blue.

Stark paced.

‘Screw this,’ he snapped, reassembling the suit around him and raising his palms towards the mesh of rocks overhead.

‘Bring him here,’ Stark said, gesturing to the spot next to him.

‘Rescue’s only forty-three feet up. Time to give them a helping hand.’

He fired a blast over their heads.

The rock crumbled.

Light poured in.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the end?  
> I wrote this while I was in hospital, I just really wanted to write an emotionally scarred Clint blaming himself for his own abuse and a twisted little piece where the abuser appears more fragile and pathetic than stereo-typically evil.  
> Originally there was going to be an ending, where Clint tries to come to terms with things with the support of the team, but then I landed in intensive care before I could finish it. Once I was well enough to write I looked back over it and decided I liked it better without the resolution.


End file.
